


Like Before

by tombs



Series: Those Not Meant to Be Alone [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Additional Tags and Pairings in Notes, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Bottom Steve Rogers, M/M, Miscarriage, Mpreg, Multiple Pairings, Omega Steve Rogers, Pack Dynamics, Slow Build, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-23
Updated: 2016-01-02
Packaged: 2018-05-02 21:44:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5264762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tombs/pseuds/tombs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve and Tony grow closer in the wake of the Battle of New York. But Steve is still struggling with grief, loss, and the secrets of the past. There are parts of his own nature that he doesn't fully understand yet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for **DreamyJupiter**. Darling, I couldn't find you on tumblr or AO3, and I just hope you see this fic. :( Let me know what your AO3 account is, and I'll link up this gift to you.
> 
>  
> 
>  **Additional Pairings:** Peggy/Steve, Thor/Steve, Natasha/Steve, Sam Wilson/Steve, **[SPOILERS]** _Steve/Gabe Jones, Steve/James Montgomery Falsworth._
> 
>  **Additional Tags:** Mating Cycles/In Heat, Heat Sex, Heat Related **Dub-Con** , Knotting, Self Lubrication, Breeding
> 
> Most of these tags won't be applicable until later in the series. I wanted to forewarn for them, but they aren't within "Like Before".
> 
> (If anyone can show me how to get the span tags to work and block out the spoilers, please help.)
> 
>  
> 
> Lastly, big BIG thank you to [thehighwaywoman](http://archiveofourown.org/users/thehighwaywoman/pseuds/thehighwaywoman) for the beta and helping me whip this thing into shape. Love you my dear. :)
> 
>  **Edit:** I previously marked the flashback in the first chapter as Summer 1945. But apparently Zola's capture and Bucky's death happened [between](http://marvelcinematicuniverse.wikia.com/wiki/1940s) Jan 1 - Feb 19th of 1945. So this summer flashback must have been in 1944.

_Avengers Tower_  
_August 2012_  
_Three months after The Battle of New York_

"You're leaving?"  
  
Tony stood in the bedroom doorway, his face thunderous. Steve hunched lower over his suitcase, then turned back to the closet.

"I've been reassigned." Steve pulled his shirts off their hangers and folded them with brutal efficiency.  
  
"Right. Sure." Tony stared at him, confused and outraged. “You’re Captain America! You can get Fury to assign you wherever you want. You don’t have to get assigned _anywhere_. Why are you doing this?”

“I’m going where I should be.” Steve didn’t look up.

“Where you-” Tony’s hands went to his chest, then gestured out the door towards the commons. “This is where you should be. Right here. Why are you running away?” Tony’s voice was numb with incomprehension

Steve kept his eyes closed. He felt like he had Tony’s heart held painfully tight in his hands, and he was about to squeeze until it bled. “I have to go.”

“Why?” Tony demanded. “What is there for you besides a bunch of graves and a dying old woman?”

“It’s what I need to do-”

“You need to stay here. With me.” Tony held his hands to his chest. Gestured to the door. “With us!”

“You’re not going to understand-”

“No, I don’t understand. We need you, Cap.”

“Don’t say that-”

“We do!”

“You don’t!” Steve yelled back, and met Tony’s eyes. “You’ll be fine without me! They- she won’t.” Steve swallowed. “I need to go where I belong.” He pulled out the nightstand drawer.

“This is where you belong, Cap.” That numbness was creeping back into Tony’s voice. “You can always visit her. You don’t need to leave.”

“It is what it is.”

“The past is dead, Steve. Nothing’s going to change that. Peggy Carter? She’s already a ghost. You can’t hang your hat with a ghost.”

“I’ll hang it where it damn well goes.” Steve needed to get out of here as fast as possible.

Tony finally seemed to get it. “Fine.” He turned to leave, then stopped. "Tell me again- you got reassigned, right after we get our shit together as a team, right after you get out of your funk, and, oh yeah. Right after we slept together. Then they decide to reassign you. Sure, I'll buy that."

Steve sighed, frustrated. But he wasn’t angry. “Tony, it’s not you.”

But Stark was ramping up for a full on rant. "Don't get me wrong, I totally deserve this. You couldn't be bailing on a more bail-worthy guy. I've done the same thing to, oh, probably a dozen people. I just never thought this would be your move, Cap. Good job. Run away. Congrats, Mr. Perfect is becoming a more well-balanced person!"

\----

 _Forests of France_  
_Summer 1944_

“I say James,” Bucky said, tossing the dirty baseball.

Steve caught it. “You don’t even like James.” He threw the ball back.

Bucky caught it, and shrugged with self-satisfaction. “It’s regal.” He threw.

Steve caught. “Your ass is regal.”

“Thank you.”

Steve looked thoughtful. “What about Walter?”

Bucky made a face. “Makes me think of Walter O’Donnell. Stinky little snot.”

Steve made a face too. “Lawrence?”

“Too uppity.”

Steve shook his head at the hypocrisy.

“What about Alice?” Bucky suggested, and lobbed the ball.

Steve caught, and held on to it for a moment. “I like that.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“I like Evelyn too.” 

Steve liked it not so much. “Maybe. Jane?”

“Plain Jane? Don’t do that to a girl, Steve.”

“What’s wrong with Jane?”

Bucky shook his head in disgust. “Herbert.”

“No,” Steve said firmly.

Bucky grinned like they were in agreement. He tossed the ball up in the air a couple times. “Curtis?” He threw.

“Curtis.” Steve tried it out. “Curt. Tim?”

From down by the campfire, Dum Dum called out, “Oh dear god, no. Not if you have any love in your heart.”

“Hah! Yeah, but our kids won’t have your big ugly mug!” Bucky hollered back.

“He could still be Timmy the Giant!” Dum Dum yelled around the curve of his hand. Behind him, Gabe shook his head and leaned over to say something to Dernier.

The reminder of his size made Steve turn inward for a second. The baseball hit him in the middle of his chest, hard. “Hey!”

“Don’t get all mopey, gorgeous.” Bucky nodded towards him. “Come on.” He wiggled his fingers, arms outstretched. Steve swung the ball with force.

Bucky caught it and swung back just as hard. “Come on!”

“Walter!”

“You said that already, dumbo!”

“James Walter!”

“That makes him Wally in my family. Come on Rogers, use that brain!”

“David!”

“And?”

“Carroll!”

Bucky scrubbed his nose. “Dailey!”

Steve thought quick. “Eames.”

“Fergus!”

“Gail!”

The rest of the team tuned them out. He and Bucky got past Quinn. Steve insisted on adding Riordan to Bucky's Rory, but they gave up after Tavon.

"Uther?"

Steve shook his head in disgust. “My mother would dunk your head in the wash bucket for that, Barnes.” Falsworth had been watching their game with a soft and almost tentative look on his face. Steve met his eyes to give him a reassuring smile. Monty gave him a respectful nod back.

The team moved in the evening, making progress towards Le Lieu under the cover of dark. They were south of Mont Tendre, and their ultimate destination was Strasbourg. This was Jacques’s mission, and they were doing the Resistance’s bidding right now, happily.

As always, they went into it knowing that they could die, that they could watch each other die. Steve had two minds, and two wishes. One for justice, for what was right, for the safety of the French people living here in danger. For the safety of those the Allies were bombing in their effort to win back land, for the Germans like Erskine who hadn’t wanted this, and for the people he wanted to protect. He and Bucky chose to fight for life and liberty and what was good.

That second wish still lived with them, barely under the surface and at the edges of their minds, a promise for the future if they could both get out of the war alive. For what he and Bucky couldn’t have before, but what they could now, in this big healthy new body of Steve’s. Surrounded by the Commandos, Morita and Dum Dum on his sides, Dernier and Gabe leading their trek, Falsworth and Bucky behind, it felt possible. It felt more possible than it ever had before.

“Whelan,” Bucky whispered in his ear, as he passed Steve in the dark, his Thompson pointed forty five degrees down, jogging into the misty forest ahead.

\----

_2012_

Steve walked out of his apartment, down the hallway, and stopped at the wide living room. The entire team waited between him and the elevator. Hawkeye was sitting high on the bookshelf, bow and arrow sitting beside him, fingers busy with a Rubik’s cube, watching Steve and the rest of the room. Bruce leaning behind the sofa, silent and stoic, yet somehow vulnerable, like the stability in his life was about to be yanked out from under him. Natasha in the kitchen, hip against the chrome counter, a green smoothie in front of her, her face cold and emotionless. For the first time in weeks, Steve was glad Thor was gone.

And Tony, in the hallway behind him.

“I…” Steve faltered, feeling like he was about to step off a cliff, into the abyss.

“Yes?” Natasha answered, taking a sip through the straw.

“I have to go.” But they weren’t going to understand.


	2. Chapter 2

_Washington DC_  
_The Triskelion_  
_April 2012_

“Are you still thinking about it, sir?” Hill asked, setting down the reports of STRIKE’s mission in Armenia.

“Hmmm?” Fury, who had obviously drifted into thought while she debriefed, leaned back in his chair and turned toward her.

Maria gave him a look. “Barton. Romanoff. Stark. Banner.”

“Yes.” He leaned forward, eying her. “Do you agree with the idea?”

Hill wondered how to step around this mess. There was no clear path. “I think the World Security Council has our best chances in mind.”

Fury shook his head. “They’re going the wrong way.”

“With respect sir, your idea has a much, much lower chance of succeeding.”

Fury waved his arm in frustration. “We should still pursue the Avengers Initiative. It’s got a lower chance of turning every country on this goddamn planet against each other.”

“That’s the council’s job, sir. And I don’t think Stark is someone you want involved with keeping diplomatic peace.”

Fury shook his head again, rejecting her sarcasm.

Coulson had let Hill get her arguments out, but was obviously itching to give his own input. “I know this is a plan that seems…nearly absurd. But it’s worked before. A small squad of men and women, close knit, highly capable, who somehow…” His gaze drifted upward a bit, drawing awe from an inner image. “Manage to do more and go farther than any regiment or company could. Sometimes a small team is what is needed.”

Maria tilted her head and put her arms on the table. “You know I blame you for putting ideas in Nick’s head.”

“No,” Nick argued, as Coulson put his hands up. “I had this idea before he ever said anything.”

Maria leaned back. “Obviously. Because every original thought always comes from you. Sir.”

“And don’t you forget it,” Fury threatened. Hill and Coulson shared a look of broad suffering. “But a moment of real seriousness here. I want us to weigh in, and consider the Avengers Initiative again from our current standpoint.”

Coulson put his hands together. “We already have a connection between Barton and Romanoff. We just need to establish a link between the rest of them.”

“Romanoff and Stark…weren’t a complete failure.” Hill admitted.

Fury didn’t look too happy. “But they didn’t click either.”

“Look, I understand the appeal of trying to emulate the greatest teams in history. But there’s no recipe that we can just throw together to make it happen. Look at this disaster,” Maria waved the STRIKE mission folder, with its two casualties. “They only made half an effort to save their own!”

“We’ll restructure the group. Again,” Fury promised.

“These things can take time,” Coulson amended. “And we don’t know how they’ll all interact when we put everyone together. If we get this team started now, we can give them time to grow together, to form bonds.” He grabbed the keyboard on the conference table, and brought up four faces on the big screen. “This is a strong roster. A good foundation.”

Fury nodded. Two close range fighters, two long range. An infiltrator, an engineer, a berserker, a scientist, and a marksman. Three alphas, two betas. An almost balanced blend of movers and shakers, maverick chance, and cool reserved cunning. This was a group that could make things happen.

“But not a team,” Maria warned.

“They could be something great,” Fury told them again, but Hill could see his hopes were fading.

Coulson tilted his head in commiseration. “I really had hoped that Romanoff would be the linchpin we need.”

Hill shook her head. “She’s not a leader. I’m not saying she can’t do it, but all her history and testing indicate that she would rather handle a situation on her own.”

“But Barton-”

“Barton showed faith in her, not the other way around,” Fury reminded Coulson.

“Should we be making Barton the leader of this operation?” Hill asked doubtfully.

“He’ll run away from any sort of formal responsibility,” Coulson said, “You can count on him to save your life, but you can’t count on him to follow protocol. You can count on him to do the right thing, but you can’t always count on him to fulfill the mission parameters. He’s a truly good person. He’s just not…”

“A soldier,” Fury supplied.

“Or a spy. But he’s more than just a combatant. I’m not sure how we can define him in our organization, except as an agent. And we always have to weigh that when we choose whether to send him on a mission,” Coulson admitted.

“But I like his instincts.” Fury leaned back. “Maybe we should go ahead and get them all together, see what happens. Barton and Romanoff might have some good observations for us.”

“They’ll say Stark’s an ass, Banner’s a civilian, Hulk's a threat, and this is a waste of their time.” Hill rolled her eyes.

“I’m more worried what Banner will say about Stark,” Coulson added.

“Banner,” Maria emphasized.

“Banner,” Coulson agreed.

Fury sighed. “I know he’s the white elephant in this plan. His head’s all over the map, but his heart is in the right place. And I think a team structure would balance him, make him more dependable. And if we use him, I want a team that can act fast in case things do go wrong.”

Maria put her head in her hands. “He’ll kill them all, and we’ll lose all our strongest players on the field. On the planet.”

Another sigh from Coulson. “I still think Romanoff is the linchpin in this.”

Hill lifted her head. “I like her. But she’s not type of person we’re looking for. She’s can’t bring people to her.”

“Barton.”

“Again, that wasn’t her. She can’t do that with everyone. She’s not an influencer. Not within her interior world.”

“Stark is.”

“Yes. Somehow he manages to endear people to him. But he also brings chaos and refuses to cooperate with others. Honestly, I think we should keep him off this project.”

“I agree sir.” Coulson hesitantly added, “I like him, but I don’t believe he’s who we need on this team.”

“I want him in on it. And Banner.” Fury made a broad gesture to pull their eyes to him. “Let’s play this out. We throw the four of them in a room together.”

Silence, then Maria ventured, “Barton would refuse to talk…”

Phil added, “Stark would harass the others.”

“Banner would eventually blow up-”

“Romanoff would get sick of all of them, and probably desert SHIELD for our debilitating stupidity.”

“And then aliens would attack and everyone dies. The end,” Hill finished. “If I may speak plainly sir…what are we even doing? Why are we continuing this discussion?”

“Because this can work,” Fury argued.

“We just need the right leader,” Coulson agreed. Hill leaned back, unhappy. Coulson leaned forward, intent. “It can. We just need to find the right man - or woman - who can bring a group of people like this together. We need them to form a, a…”

“A team,” Hill finished impatiently.

“More than just a team. We need a bond that transcends the game.”

Hill rolled her whole head back, obviously tired of this fruitless meeting.

“This is what I want from Earth’s greatest defenders,” Fury said. “More than just the best and strongest on the planet, we want a team that can’t be divided by global loyalties or internal conflict. We want a team that multiplies its own efforts. But that’s not something any of us can create. That type of psychological bond is something that just happens. We can’t artificially engineer it.”

Coulson looked ready to argue, “Yes but. We need something. It’s… It can happen. We put them together. But it has to be the right people. We need a catalyst. Something to draw them together. Cement the team.”

Hill waved her hands in disgust, “Then throw them on a mission together already!”

“Not yet.” Fury shook his head. “We don’t have all the ingredients yet. We’d just end up with a flat cake.”

“Fine,” Hill said patiently. “What ingredients are we missing?”

“That linchpin,” Coulson insisted.

“A leader,” Fury added.

“More than just a leader,” Coulson argued.

An alarm blared; all three reached for their weapons. But it wasn’t the emergency alarm, it was the commander’s direct line. Fury pressed the comm button, body tense. “What is it?”

“We’ve gotten a call from the Greenland sir,” the agent on the other end answered.

“Greenland?” Fury glanced between Coulson and Hill. Coulson’s were widening, just a bit. “What’s the code?”

“Level 4." That meant field agents, no combat. "But I’m being told to report Omega Level on this sir.”

Greenland. Omega Level clearance. That meant…

Coulson was vibrating. Hill was still and patient in her confusion, well aware that something big was happening.

“Deliver the call,” Fury told the dispatcher. The new line that connected was deafened with the sound of heavy wind against a temporary enclosure.

“This is Fury. Am I to understand this has to do with Independence Day?”

Coulson watched as Fury nodded his head, listening to the line.

“And what do you need, Commander?”

The commander of the Greenland team needed three times their current excavation equipment, all of it meant for delicate ice drilling.

“It’s coming your way,” Fury said, typing in the requests with one hand as they spoke, marking each as urgent and to be shipped within four hours.

When the brief call was done, Hill asked, “Sir?”

Fury met her eyes. “Omega Level clearance includes files such as Project Rebirth, Commander.” He watched the shocked understanding wash over her calm features. He looked to Coulson. With a small smile, Fury told him, “Go.”

And Coulson was off.

“He’s been waiting his whole life for this, hasn’t he?” Maria said with a small smile.

“Hell of a time we live in, isn’t it?” Fury smiled back.

None of them knew that in fourteen short hours, the Greenland team would be requesting a medical team, and that Captain America’s body would be more than just recovered.

All discussions of the Avengers Initiative faded away for the day, but their answer had come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had not known about [Omega Level Clearance](http://marvelcinematicuniverse.wikia.com/wiki/Clearance_Level) before researching this chapter. (I haven't watched Agents of SHIELD.) Omega Level has nothing to do with omegaverse, though I'm pretending in this story that the word omega has connotations of sensitive things that need to be protected. Canonically, Omega Level clearance holds full Project Rebirth details and other highly sensitive information, and Fury is the only one with access. Alpha Level clearance is SHIELD's most secret and highly encrypted files, and only Fury and Alexander Pierce have access. So I'm betting that there is an encrypted version of the Project Rebirth files on the servers that Fury and Pierce can access, and a non-digital version of Project Rebirth with full details that only Fury (and probably Peggy) can access.
> 
> I'm sure everyone wants to get back to Steve and Tony and Bucky. Hang tight. :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning:** Heads up, Suicidal Thoughts has been added to the tags!
> 
>  **Edit:** Because I'm terrible, there's a bit of new material in the first half of this chapter. And I went and changed the names of the Barnes brothers. You don't need to remember the names of the Barnes family, but I might post a list of them, because I am now making lists of the Barnes family. (Oh boy, someone stop me.)

_New York City_  
_April 2012_  
_Fifteen days before The Battle of New York_

This world buzzes with electricity, and every day, every night feels like a moment within Erskine’s Brooklyn lab, right before the coffin closed. It bristles Steve’s nerves. He's always waiting for the next shoe to drop, for the gunshot to ring out.

“You’re here with us, right Captain?” The psychiatrist asks during one at their meetings, and Steve stares at her.

He’s not where he should be. And he’s never been this alone.

Growing up it was him and his mother, then Bucky too. There's been a few beautiful years where he had both of them, Bucky following him around at school, dragging Steve along to play with the other neighborhood kids, meals with Sarah Rogers and Bucky, nights next to her mother in the only bed they had.

When his mother died, he’d seen it coming. He’d prepared for the numbness and emptiness, had waited and waited for the cold splash when he hit the water and she was gone, had waited for it with growing fear. But when Bucky died he- he hadn’t been prepared. He still couldn’t believe Buck was gone. He couldn’t believe any of this.

But even when his ma died, even when Bucky had been sent across the seas, Steve hadn't truly known what it was to be alone. He'd thought he had, alone in his bed at night, eating crackers and a little bit of meat for dinner by himself, but the neighborhood had known him, the grocer, the pharmacist, the old classmates he saw sometimes, the ones that hadn't been shipped out themselves. Mrs. Mayfield a floor below him, old Mr. Swain below her, and Mary and Angela Rouse the newlyweds across the street. 

And the Barnes had been there for him, even distant, suspicious Winifred Barnes. It was only Steve she treated that way, warm and commanding with everyone else, charismatic towards strangers. She had Bucky's way of tilting his chin and smiling, well aware of how charming she was. Steve had seen the way she watched her family like a hawk for sneezes and coughs, the same way Bucky watched him.

But between Steve and her there was no warmth. Bucky had been a bone of contention between them, though Steve doubted he would have felt comfortable around her regardless. Her engaging manner would slide away when they caught sight of each other across the room, and Steve would look away, then back up, ashamed of any weakness he showed in her presence. He entered the Barnes home rarely, hating the smell of the place, always aware he was uninvited. It felt more off limits than the private corridors for the sisters at church.

But when Bucky was enlisted, there was always a Barnes showing up to check in on him, food to keep him fed, picking up an old dish and leaving a new one, sharing tools and old clothes, looking in on the condition of Steve and Bucky's tenement. Usually it was Rebecca with meals, sometimes Uncle Will, once Mr. Barnes himself. Several times Aunt Ida, with her near silent and sometimes frightening manner, inspecting their place as if it was hers to judge. Never Winifred Barnes. Steve could respect her for that. He didn't want her on the threshold of his home anymore than she wanted him on the threshold of hers. 

But Steve had been desperate for something, for Bucky, for a chance to prove himself, for a chance to _fight_ , and once he was gone from New York, it was Peggy who had filled that spot. Maybe even Erskine too. Peggy was young and strong and independent. Steve hadn't beleived the feelings he felt for her, the horrible desire to be untrue to Bucky, but he had still needed her near, and she had seemed magnetized to him as well. But it was Erskine who understood the desperate loss. Erskine who had been the next great loss in his life.

But Steve hadn't been alone. Peggy, then Bucky back in his arms, then the Commandos. There had been terrible, horrible times during the war. But Steve hadn't gone through it alone.

He stares at the files of his teammates. Morita, dead. Monty, dead. Both not long after the war. Gabe and Dernier, dead. Dum Dum, a hundred years old. Peggy, ninety-one. Peggy…

He wants to find her and beg, “Help me! Fix this! What did I do?” He’s terrified that she’ll unleash the wrath that he deserves.

What had he done? 

“I can’t imagine leaving this, can you?” Bucky had said once, watered-down beer in his hand, standing close to Steve in the Whip & Fiddle. The boisterous crowd of soldiers and civilians around them, safe for the moment, gay in celebration. This rowdy group of people, this camaraderie and sense of belonging - he and Bucky had been stumped for how they would live without it after the war.

What had he done?

“After you took the Valkyrie down, the SSR became SHIELD,” Fury tells him as they walk down the hallway of the New York base. It's hard to be sure with everything so new and strange, but Steve thinks this is more of an intelligence center than military. These people don't have the look of privates, corporals, or sergeants. These people here, watching him, working under Colonel Fury, are more similar to the watchful knowing eyes of Peggy, than the grim solidarity and hope for home of Morita or Dum Dum. It makes Steve even more suspicious. Steve watches the personnel around him, wondering if this is all just a Nazi ploy to keep him obedient and compliant in captivity. “In 1946," Fury says, "after Leviathan’s attack on the SSR, Stark and Carter decided that they needed something more. They recruited Sergeant Dugan, who led the Howling Commandos after your death, and formed a new division of intelligence and military power. They separated from the SSR, but eventually ended up taking it over and combining the two agencies.”

Fury watches Steve’s face, and Steve turns his attention from the facilities and people, to respectfully, warily, face Colonel Nicolas Fury. Fury holds his hands behind his back. “Peggy Carter led SHIELD for fifty-one years. She is _the_ most influential person of the twentieth century. Not that Time magazine will give her that spot.” Fury watches him for a reaction. Busy agents give them a polite berth. “I’ll make contact. You’ll get to see her. But I want to run this by her family first, make them at least somewhat aware of what to expect.” Fury pauses again while Steve worries over the word ‘family’ like a scab. “She has a severe form of dementia called Alzheimer's. It causes-"

"I know what it is."

Fury nods. Neither of them know what to say. Fury opens his mouth, stops. Then says, "Have you seen the current president of the United States? I think you'll like this Captain."

Peggy’s family. Who were they? Who did she marry? Who did Gabe marry? Did Monty or Morita get a chance to have a family before they died? Seventy years. Seventy years.

The therapists had been asking him questions about how he was adjusting, how he _felt_...whether he was suicidal. Maybe he had been. Maybe he was. And it had cost him everything. His people, his home, his way of life. Worse than that - what had it cost the others? If he hadn't taken the plane down, would Morita and Monty have lived? Would Gabe or Peggy have gotten married? Crashing the Valkyrie has seemed like the only option at the time, but now that he looked back - why hadn't he jumped? Why hadn't he gone to the bay and tried to manually drop the payload? He thought he had nothing to lose but his own life. But the lives of the men and women he worked with - they were his. His responsibility. His to look after. And he'd abandoned them.

Everything that could have been, gone. He and Bucky would have had five children, a place in Brooklyn, maybe Queens, another in London. Captain Steve Rogers and his little army would have been the biggest spectacle at church. Sunday mass seems like the silliest of minutia from his stolen life, but he would have gone every week he could have, held his head high, and done Mrs. Barnes proud. The Rogers Clan, heroic and scandalous, more exciting than Winifred Barnes and her entourage any day. He would have overshadowed The Barnes for good.

But it never happened.

Fury starts talks with Dum Dum’s caregivers, who has settled himself in Florida. One hundred years old. 1912 to 2012. Steve doesn’t understand being on this side of the year 2000. He and Bucky had once talked about living to see it, and Steve remembers a certainty in himself that he wouldn’t reach forty, much less…ninety-four. 

He is twenty-seven. Peggy is twenty-four, and Dum Dum is thirty-three. Monty and Morita are alive. Bucky is looking for him. This isn’t happening.

The idea that Steve needs to _ask_ to see either Peggy or Dum Dum galls some ferocious and possessive part of him, but he knows that the shock of seeing him - young and dead Steve Rogers - might be too hard on old hearts. The two of them aren’t even anywhere near each other. Had that camaraderie fallen apart after Steve died? Peggy is staying in a facility in Washington DC, Dum Dum in Fort Lauderdale. Morita is buried in California. Gabe in Virginia. Monty and Jacques are both across the pond. Howard in Long Island.

Bucky had never been recovered.

Steve bites down the anger and puts it away for another time. Buck had been given a spot of honor in Arlington, and a headstone in the St. Johns Cemetery in Brooklyn, next to his parents, their friends, and his three brothers. All four of Mrs. Barnes' sons, dead before thirty. Rebecca's twin had been only four years old when he died of pneumonia. Bucky, Thomas, and Mickey had died in the war. 

Rebecca - snotty, tough, smart mouthed little Rebecca Barnes had had two kids herself and lived in Saratoga Springs. Steve was terrified of seeing her. He didn't know what it had been like in the Barnes house during the war, whether the grief had been silent or furious. What it had sounded like when they received that first telegram. Then the second. Then finally, Bucky's. Mrs. Barnes had probably wanted Steve dead at that point. He couldn't have shown her his face, not after letting Bucky die. 

The news of Mickey's death had reached Bucky from the central office, not from New York, thanks to a young omega clerk in headquarters who Bucky had damn near charmed the socks off of. The telegram had been delivered when they came back to London after the ludicrous affair with the Uber Tank in Greece. Bucky had gone from obnoxiously victorious to silent for weeks. It had killed something in him that even captivity in Austria hadn't. Bucky had always been able to pull the trigger when other soldiers faltered. But when his older brother died, Bucky began to relish the death of every Nazi he killed.

Tom’s death had come only four months later. Peggy had delivered it to them in Poland. There hadn't been grief when Tom died. Just numbness. He had been ten days away from turning thirty.

What if that had been Steve's sons and daughters? Dying one, by one, by one.

It didn't matter. He'd never had kids. Peggy had kids. Gabe had kids, Jacques and Howard too. Gabe and his wife, whoever she was, had moved to Virginia and raised their family. Steve looked up Gabe’s kids, four men and women now older than himself. He mourns never knowing them.

His team was scattered all across the states, all across the world. It feels wrong.

Steve thinks of killing himself. He doesn’t. It isn’t right, all the effort that SHIELD and Howard put into finding him, just throwing it away. He needs to take care of Peggy and Dum Dum, and the families left behind. When the two of them die…

There will surely be something worth living for. It just doesn’t feel like there is. But he's learned his lesson. He doesn't get to die while they still stand.

“I think we can tell him,” the psychiatrist quietly says to Fury after one of their sessions. Steve blinks; they kept something from him. He looks up between his eyelashes at Fury standing over him. Steve supposes he’s a little more grounded than he was ten days ago. But - they kept something from him.

"Captain..." Fury looks down a two manila folders in his hands. Steve reaches out for them.

\----

Steve woke up to a bright and furious future. Steve woke up alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to [thehighwaywoman](http://archiveofourown.org/users/thehighwaywoman/pseuds/thehighwaywoman). They betaed these chapters in a flash, and in the middle of a busy and terrible week too. Everyone needs to go read their story [Down to a Sunless Sea](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2049912/chapters/4452444), it's one of my favorites.


	4. Chapter 4

They watched Rogers closely. His emotional state was flung back into the grief cycle; they had already seen him fluctuate between denial, to anger, depression, and there had been hints of bargaining in what little they could see of his private thoughts. He had been settling more and more into grief, a good sign of acceptance, though still a long, long road to recovery. But the news they had had to give him flung him right back into anger, then denial, then isolation.

“It’s to be expected,” Dr. Adams told Fury.

"We could have waited," Fury replied.

"How long would you have waited? Until the information was 'useful'?"

Fury had given the psychiatrist a glare. "There's nothing useful here. It's all just _sad_."

It was a rough few days. 

“Carter?” Fury asked Coulson. 

“Not yet sir,” Coulson admitted with defeat. “But there’s someone else we can take him to…as soon as he’s ready.”

On the third day, Rogers was out of his room again. He walked. He boxed. He cried. He was watched at every turn, but the doctors said the signs of grief were good. He was compliant and responsive, but spent his time on his own. It had been several weeks, approaching one month, since he awoke. “Let’s see if he wants to take a phone call,” the doctor said.

He did want to.

Dum Dum Dugan was a mentor to Nick, and Nick had delighted in the expression on the old man’s face when he saw Steve Rogers, alive.

“Bloody blue balls,” Dugan goggled.

Steve, face tense at the corners, smiled at the screen. “Hey Dum Dum.”

"Nick, is this some computer trick of your's?" Dum Dum accused.

"You know it's not," Nick said from behind Rogers.

“I can’t believe my eyes.”

In New York, Steve looked from the giant glass screen he was holding, to the lit up gadgets around him, and the drab, boring, normal looking walls. “Lately, I’ve been having trouble believing mine too.”

Dum Dum’s old filmy eyes had started to tear up. “I never thought I’d see this day.”

They had flown Steve down to Ft. Lauderdale, to let them spend time together.

Dugan had his own house in a gated community, rather nice though Dum Dum waved off any compliments.

“Nothing like Howard or Pegs had.”

“I thought Florida was all bad real estate,” Steve had admitted, as a light rain began to fall.

“Us old fogies are the only ones dumb enough to buy,” Dum Dum stared out the open window, the fresh scent of rain filling the room. “Florida’s become a big hub for old hot things like me.”

Steve gave him the side eye. “Sure, stick all you old coots down here, wait for the next hurricane to wash you away.”

Dum Dum laughed, coughs wracking his chest but not dulling his smile. “It’s good to hear you talking shit again Captain. It was all bleached and watered down after you died kiddo.” Dum Dum didn’t seem too perturbed, but he had always been one of the more good natured of them, able to shrug off Jim’s acidic comments, often missing Bucky and Monty’s witty jokes. There was a reason he was called Dum Dum.

“I glanced at the books,” Steve told him, “Some of the shit Bucky used to say made it to the eternal record.”

“Old Bucko could climb out a gal’s bedroom with a fella’s whiskey and the good silver, and no one’d stop him.”

The smile came, and it hurt. Steve flattened his lips and nodded. Easy silence fell between them.

“It was a rough time after you and Barnes died,” Dum Dum started.

Steve’s throat dried up. “I’m sorry. I… I failed you guys. I fucked up in a lot of ways. You, Jim, Monty… I…”

“We failed you Cap,” Dum Dum said with a sigh. “Shouldn’t have let you out of our sight after the Alps. None of us were surprised when that plane went down. You did what you had to Cap.”

Steve looked away. “Maybe.”

“It was a tragedy, the way everything played out. Something old Shakespeare himself would’a written.”

A playful spark flared in Steve’s eyes. “What, are you all learned up now Timmy boy?”

They spent several days together, rebuilding the old worn bridges. Dugan had staff, of all things, perks he had seen Howard with and tried to emulate now when he could afford the leisure. “I got money from you, the war, from Monty, from Stark, from hazard pay. I handed it all over to Howard, you know? Said here, I’d spend it all if it was in my hands. Keep it for me. And he went and put it into a bunch of funds or stocks or something. So I turn sixty-five, and he comes back to me with a million or three. I couldn’t’a made that if I won every game I ever put money on!”

“I’m glad he looked out for you,” Steve said with a small sigh. “Dum Dum living like Babe Ruth? Damn right it’s crazy.”

“He heh, more like Hugh Hefner if I could.”

“Who?”

And moments like this.

“We gotta get you to Disney World kid. Universal, Epcot, all that fast shit that I’m too old for. Best roller coasters in the world I hear.”

“Better than Coney?” Steve challenged.

“Oh kid.”

And they went to the beach.

“You gonna take off your shirt kid? All these pretty young things, and you with your shirt buttoned up and tucked in.”

“I will if you will.”

Dum Dum started cracking up. “Not sure if they’ll approach with a wrinkly old man in a wheel chair next to you.”

“You gonna talk, or you gonna get undressed?”

No one approached.

But it didn’t last.

“Go back to New York, Cap,” Dugan had told him.

Rogers had begun to shake his head, obstinate and stubborn, but Dugan had urged the point. “I’m not saying go away forever. Come back to visit me in a month or two. But you’re holding back here! You’ve got a life to live kid!” Steve’s eyes had narrowed. Dugan held his hands open helplessly. “I mean it! You’re still young,” Dugan had broken into coughs for a moment, “and New York is your home. You’re meant for big things. Hell, you don’t have to live as a hero, you can try and pick up your life where you left off. The war’s decades old. No one will expect to see Steve Rogers on the streets. You can have a normal life. Go draw girly pictures.” A pause. “Can you draw me some girly pictures?”

Rogers had left after a week’s stay in Florida. “I expect you to call at least once a week! Twice!” Dugan told him. Nick thought that the insistence on twice was more for Roger’s sake than Dugan’s. The omega needed it right now.

Then Steve had met with Rebecca and her kids.

“Steve?” She had asked, looking at him like he was a ghost.

To Steve she looked like her mother, plus another forty years.

He had been more afraid to talk to her than to talk to Peggy, that’s how bad it was. The last time he had seen her in person, she had been fourteen. She had been leaning out his window, watching the street below as he worked on a cartoon. He couldn’t remember what they had talked about, but was fairly sure that she had brought cooked lettuce or potatoes with her. Had he given the Barnes all their dishes back before he left?

“You look just like you did in the pictures…” Rebecca had said as she walked from the living room to the kitchen and back. She’d sit down, then remember something, and carefully get back up. Bucky had used to do the same damn thing, always thinking of something new he wanted to grab in the middle of conversation. Though he had had that stillness too that sometimes took hold, something none of the other Barnes siblings seemed to inherit. “But you look like you used to too,” She sat down again, gingerly. She placed the cookies next to their coffee. She’d probably be up again soon, to grab peanut butter, or milk. But for now she she sat and looked back up at him. They’d used to be of a height. “In your cheeks, you always had those handsome cheekbones. But now your face is broader. Your hair looks thicker now. But your eyes are- your eyes are different. But not from the,” she gestured to how big he was, “how big you got. They’re from Bucky I think. And the war.”

Steve looked away, thoughts of killing men and women with guns, bludgeoning them with his shield, of Bucky’s stone cold face when he killed. Steve brought his cup up to his mouth. They were plain navy colored ups, different from the brightly colored mugs she had on the mantel. “Yeah, I’m-” But he didn’t know what to say. “…sorry. I heard about Mickey and Tom.”

“And Uncle Joseph,” she added.

Steve looked up, his stomach sinking.

“He was on forty one,” she said. Uncle Joseph had been the youngest of the Aunts and Uncles that Bucky and the Barnes kids had grown up with. He had his own home somewhere, but spent his time in the Barnes home most weekends and evenings. He’d kept his clothes dusted and pressed, always looking a bit dapper. The boys had all emulated his sense of clean and modern style, more than George Barnes or William Barnes laid back and tired sense of business dress.

Uncle Joseph Hamm hadn’t been related to the Barnes brothers, looking nothing like them, and certainly hadn’t had a familial or sibling like relationship to Winifred Barnes. But he’d been a parent to the kids, as much as Aunt Ida, or father George, or Uncle William, or Winifred herself.

“He’d joined the Navy, like Mickey did. He was in a submarine, around Bali. Apparently they weren’t getting good radar signals because of the mountains, and they couldn’t see the Japanese planes flying towards them.”

Steve leaned forward, reaching for her wrist. For one horrible moment, he worried he no longer had the right to touch her, but cautiously laid his hand over hers still. “I’m sorry.”

She looked up, and smiled sadly. “The forties were a bad decade for us. Pops died in 1949.”

Steve closed his eyes, pushing down a wave of grief for Mr. Barnes, for Rebecca’s uncle, and Micky and Tom, and Bucky Bucky Bucky.

“I’m so sorry Becca,” he said through a tight throat.

She turned her shaking hand around to grip his hand tightly, “We grieved for you too Steve.”

“Thank you.”

“Even mother.”

He laughed, and sniffled. “Oh, I don’t know about that.”

“I don’t know why you two were so awkward together, but she was fond of you too, you know? In a different, weird kind of way. She always thought you hated her.”

“No, never. She was amazing. I wanted to be just like her.”

“Poor Bucky felt like he was stuck between the two of you.”

Steve sighed. “I never meant to make things hard for him, but Mrs. Barnes and I…” He didn’t know how to describe, or justify the strange tension between him and a woman older than his own mother.

“She liked you, but you were always so standoffish around her. You never really became a part of the family…” Her eyes drifted to a photo on the mantel, of her and her husband and their kids. A selfish, sour taste briefly hit Steve’s mouth, but he lifted the cold coffee and drank it away.

“Did she get to meet the grand kids?”

“Yes, Mother and Aunt Ida got to meet them. Uncle George died a few years before they were born.” Rebecca, true to form, got up to go grab the photos off the mantel.

She put a picture of the family of four in one hand, and a picture of the grand kids (Winifred Barnes’ great grand kids) in the other, going through the name of everyone. “We named him Bucky,” she said of her son. “Properly Bucky, no James or Buchanan nonsense, just Bucky.”

Steve grinned at her two kids, in a color photo that he recognizes isn’t current future technology. Rebecca looked to be in her late thirties or early forties, and so incredibly similar to Winifred Barnes that it’s uncanny. But there’s something else, about the corners of her chin, and the way she pushed her shoulders back, that bothers Steve.

(He asks for photos of the Barnes, same as he asks for photos of his own parents, of the mother he still misses, the father he knows through stories and this one photograph, the grandparents he knew of distantly but learns more about from the SHIELD’s files than he ever knew before. Maybe it’s not his place to have this much detail on the Barnes, but they were his family more than any other family at mass. And there’s something that bothers him about the photos of Aunt Ida Hatcher and Uncle Joseph Hamm. He’d had to ask after those two, after the file on the Barnes had arrived without them. The scandal had always been around the Barnes brothers, how George Barnes and William Barnes both lived with Winifred, how Tom was tall like George and Mickey was short like William, how Winifred caught kisses on the cheek from her husband’s brother, how she’d pat the man on the leg like she did her husband, how she sat thigh to thigh with both of them beside her.)

He leaves Rebecca’s house with promises to visit again soon, and a long ride back to New York City in the back of a black car. He thinks about things that he hasn’t spent much thought time on before, about the way Uncle Joseph Hamm always pushed his shoulders back, and how the boys never could emulate that perfect ease in his spine. About Aunt Ida, and her cold gaze but the gentle way that she would touch Winifred Barnes around the waist.

\----

“In the bed with Pops and Mother,” Bucky had told Sarah Rogers, when she asked where his Uncle William slept. “Where else?”

Sarah had looked at Steve at that moment, who had been carefully keeping his mouth shut. He and Bucky had barely been through grade two at the time, but he’d known that there was something strange about Bucky’s answer even then.

“I see,” Sarah Rogers had said. “And you said you have another uncle?”

“Yeah, Uncle Joseph. Aunt Ida too.”

“Are they your mother’s brother and sister?”

Bucky had scrunched up his nose. “Naw, they’re just my uncle and aunt. I don’t think they’re related to mother or pop the same.”

“And where do they sleep?” Sarah had asked.

Bucky had started to look surly, knowing she was asking too much. But he liked Sarah Rogers, same as he liked Steve Rogers. He’d glanced to Steve, then up at Sarah again. “Uncle Joseph has a place of his own. We stay there sometimes, when mother gets a fever. Aunt Ida has her own place too, a real nice one downtown, but kinda small. She’s got doormen and everything.”

Sarah Roger’s eyes had drifted to the walls when Bucky had mentioned fevers. “I see. Do they stay with your mother sometimes? When she has fevers?”

Buck had looked suspiciously at her, shoulders tight like he was afraid he was about to be in trouble. “No,” he said defensively. Steve could tell he was lying.

Sarah Rogers had leaned in front of Bucky’s chair and smiled. “It’s okay, you don’t have to tell me. I probably shouldn’t have asked. If anyone asks, like a teacher or the priest, or anyone really, tell them no. And tell them that your Uncle has a cot of his own at home, alright?”

Bucky hadn’t met her eyes, but he’d said, “Alright.”

“Alright. I promise I won’t tell anyone James.”

“Thank you,” Bucky had mumbled.

Sarah had gone back to dinner then, the boys waiting at the table. Steve had given Bucky a piece of his paper so that he could draw too, but Bucky had made them play tick tack toe instead.

As they finished up their dinner, stew and some cornbread that Bucky had been sent to Steve’s with, Bucky asked, “Mrs. Rogers, who do you sleep with?”

“Me? Well, nowadays, Steve and I share the bed.”

“Really?” Bucky had asked. “That sounds nice. I have to sleep with the twins.” He made a face. “Pops is talking about building a bunk bed maybe. Two of us would still have to share though." A bunk bed would eventually be built, and Bucky would even get his own bunk for awhile. Until Rebecca and her twin was born. “I wouldn’t mind sleeping with Pops or Uncle Will sometimes. But not Mother though. She’s real strict.”

“I’m sure they’d rather have some privacy anyway.”

\----

Steve spoke to Gabe’s family next. One son, a lawyer and historian of the Vietnam War. “I really didn’t know what I was getting into,” the man laughs as a share a glass of whiskey in his office. It’s beautiful, dark wood, heavy leather bound volumes, and amusing little toys decorating his mahogany desk.

“That’s Yogi Bear,” Carver Jones pointed to the one that Steve was poking. “Over there’s Fat Albert, Scooby Doo, and I’ve got the whole set of the Harlem Globetrotters up here,” he pointed to the top shelf, above all the heavy legal books.

“Wow,” Steve said honestly, though he had no idea who most of these characters were. There were Bugs Bunny and a few others he recognized.

“My favorite shows growing up. I used to draw all the time,” Carver admitted.

“Did you?” Steve asked with interest.

“Yeah, but not anymore. I used to keep these action figures in the cabinets when I first started. They started spilling out, I pulled them out occasionally if there were kids in the office, and my clients started asking about them. So I finally brought them all out of the closet! Makes me memorable, if nothing else.”

“I love these,” Steve admitted. “But I don’t mean to distract from what you were saying before. The Vietnam War?”

“Oh no, I don’t really want to talk about it. Dad warned me, but I went charging in anyway. Wasn’t the same.”

“That doesn’t mean it doesn’t matter,” Steve told him with a soft smile.

Carver Jones looked up from his Yogi Bear, and they shared in the knowing.

At the end Carver asked, “So, you want to meet the kids?” And they made a date.

\----

But no Peggy.

“Either she doesn’t want to see me or they…think I’m bad for her,” Steve told Dugan.

“It’s not you, kid. She lived a hard life. Harder than any of us. And in all honestly, she knows so much that they’ve kind of got her on lock down since she started saying things she wasn’t supposed to.”

Steve felt like throwing up. “Is it that bad?”

Dum Dum winced on the screen, obviously wanting to backtrack. “It’s not that bad Cap. She’s tough, she’s younger than me! You’ve only been awake a month, right? They’re just making sure you’re not some spy planted in the Arctic. Getting you clearance.”

“Sure.”

But there was another meeting that Fury had ready for him. “Have you read up on Howard Stark’s son?”

“Uhhh, yeah,” Steve had to clear his head from thoughts of Peggy and Mrs. Barnes. “Brilliant. Rich. Kinda crazy?” Crazy was a polite way of describing it.

“That’s him. I can get you into his schedule tomorrow if you want.”

“Busy guy, huh.”

They met in California, at a spectacular cliff side house.

“Hi, I’m Steve Rogers,” had gone the introductions. “I was a good friend of your father’s.”

“Yup, Captain America, I’ve heard of you.”

The handshake had been challenging. Steve had tightened his own smile, and played nice.

“Come in come in, admire the place. I’ve got a new one going up in New York, but this is holding me over for now. I mean, there’s others. A couple dozen others, but this is home. Ish.”

“Thank you for letting me visit. I’ve heard you’ve got some pretty amazing toys of your own. Playing hero?” Steve tried to ask with that awkward smile he put on for the film camera. (“No, no, you’re overplaying it, you look like a dweeb,” Bucky had said. “This guys looks like he pisses money,” Morita would have said.)

“I’m not playing.” Stark had said with a mean smile far too like Bucky at his orneriest. Not like Howard at all. Howard made it easy for people, had always made conversation easy for Steve, like he was waltzing Steve across the dance floor.

“Of course.” Feeling off balance, Steve stood up from where he had started leaning back in the soft (what the hell? It was like sinking into a swamp of cushions) soft couch. “Sorry.” Steve had said honestly.

“Of course,” Stark said. “So what were you wanting to meet about Captain? Wanted to see how the modern day super hero gig goes? Check out some modern equipment? No frisbees here.”

“I um. I’m just trying to catch up with own team. What’s…left of them.”

“Farmingdale, New York. Down Wellwood Ave, on the Northwest side, between the tacky angel and the creepy teddy bear. There’s a big airplane statue, made in bronze, holds it’s shape better than granite apparently. Hard to miss.”

“I’m…sorry?”

“Dad. That’s where he is. Not here, just in case you were confused.”

“Of course.” Steve’s throat had tightened with rage. “I’m sorry. For bothering you.” And he had walked right out of the house.


End file.
